


Dear Fellow Traveler

by lazy_stitch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Whump, bc what else are they honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-27 20:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19797529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_stitch/pseuds/lazy_stitch
Summary: Crowley is a black hole. To be pulled in by the gravitational force of his temptations is ineffable, even for an angel.





	1. It was Written that I Would Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these morons lol. Also I did pull some dialogue straight from the book/probably also the show (definitely mirrors some parts of the show dialogue, but since I didn't actually write down what they said as I watched the scene, it's more than likely just paraphrasing... esp bc I mashed the dialogues together at some points lol).

Aziraphale pressed his palms to his thighs, hoping his robes would soak up some of his shame while beads of sweat rolled down his neck to his back like traitorous little signals that he’d done _wrong_. They left cold trails _downward_ , which isn’t a direction Aziraphale liked. Nothing _downwards_ was any good. The fingers of his right hand, freed from the burden of a deceptively heavy flaming sword, stretched outwards before curling into the rough fabric and holding it as tightly as they once held the sword. 

Had he done the wrong thing? It certainly _felt_ like it. Aziraphale had given away his literal God given sword, a weapon that scorched demons and angels alike, though it could only discorporate demons while it made angels… _die_. It was a double edged sword, literally and figuratively, meant to show… _something_. Aziraphale guessed it was to show how noble angels were – they had means of dealing death to demons but, in the Great War, chose to discorporate them instead. The demons had called them stupid (amongst other things Aziraphale didn’t dare mention because he didn’t have a filthy mouth), but they had lost in the end no matter what. It was ineffable. Perhaps the flaming swords were to test the loyalty of the remaining angels during and then after the war? Not many angels had been given flaming swords and even fewer had been allowed to keep them, and those angels were angels God really trusted, he supposed. And he’d… he’d _given it away_. 

He’d given it away to a pair of _humans_ who’d already proven themselves not worthy. Why should he care about them when they’d disobeyed God? She’d cast them out, just like how all of those angels had Fallen and become demons, and he’d just _helped_ them, given then an instrument of death and destruction to angels and demons alike – not that _they_ knew that. 

Probably. 

Hopefully. 

Anyways. Aziraphale was an _angel_. He was _supposed_ to love all of Her creations, was he not? Celebrate life and all that. Well, not all that. Truly, Aziraphale did enjoy the world (though, if he was pressed, he did have things he… didn’t like as much), what little he’d seen and what little more had been created. Tasked with guarding Eden and its inhabitants, Aziraphale hadn’t seen much of what God had breathed into life, but he didn’t mind. It was an honor to defend God’s creatures from harm, wasn’t it? Only principalities got to do it, and only four of them at that. None of the other angels were even on Earth. The remaining Archangels were still helping God create the universe (Aziraphale vaguely thought there was at least one missing, but the memory coasted at the back of his mind like a wave, crashing forward until it dissipated into nothingness until he eventually thought of it again and the process repeated). The remaining angels below principalities were in heaven, watching over things and creating paperwork stations and the like. _That_ sounded far less satisfying to Aziraphale than staring out at the white dunes of sand ( _microscopic rocks_!) while nothing but the winds disturbed the land (only, something else _had_ disturbed the land, under _his_ watch no less). At least he was one of the chosen few that could appreciate the Earth as it began. 

Aziraphale worried his bottom lip between his teeth, looking up at the top of the wall he was supposed to be guarding. Had any of the _other_ chosen few noticed him – rather, had they noticed he was missing from his post? The other three guards were far away, but maybe… it wasn’t impossible. Nothing was impossible, not really, except for upturning ineffable things like good always triumphing over evil or – but oh. _Oh_. He’d given Adam and Eve, God’s first humans, his flaming sword and what if they _did_ deserve to be cast out, expecting or not, and left to die amongst all of God’s other more dangerous creatures with teeth, claws, and attitude? They could come back, now, and slay the angels that had once been their guardians in Eden. That’d be _bad_. And it would be all _Aziraphale’s_ fault. Because he was tired, tired of fighting, tired of judging, tired of smiting, tired of being the unfeeling hand of God. How blasphemous was that, an angel that didn’t want to do the Lord’s work? And he was a _principality_ , given the honor of guarding Her children made in Her image! Which he’d _already_ failed at, mind you. If he was going to Fall for his failure, Aziraphale might as well do some good ( _bad?_ ) before he went, right?

With a curious burning, bubbling feeling rising through his chest (the humans would later, _much_ later, call it indigestion), Aziraphale flexed his wings so he could return to his post. He let them get a feel of the air, the slight breeze pushing through Eden, before stretching and finally beating them towards the dirt to take off. Aziraphale didn’t dare look at them in fear of any sign of the blackness taking over his feathers. His shoulders and back burned with an imaginary heat that bubbled and popped, sending searing flecks to make his skin sizzle and burn the color from his feathers, and he could swear he smelled sulfur. 

When his bare feet landed on the rough stonework of the wall, Aziraphale tucked his wings behind his back completely, not having looked at them for once in his life. Normally he was quite proud of them, the extra part of him that granted him the power of flight. They’d guided him through the Great War, over the heads of demons as he and his platoon rained heavenly smite and rage to keep God safe from the insurgent forces of Evil. After that, they’d taken him through the wonders of the universe (after they’d been built by God and Her Archangels - the niggling memory was back in a soft wave) to Earth. Nothing, in Aziraphale’s opinion, was as beautiful as the little planet Earth God had made. It was nice and blue and green and brown and white and… just a lot of colors and smells and delightful tastes (was it blasphemous that he wanted to try the apples?). He’d _wanted_ to be on Earth as God took her seven days to create it (or, well, seven to Her, but as days would be the complete rotation of Earth on its axis, there had been rather more than seven Earth days already), and now… now it would be his downfall, and he couldn’t even look at a part of his body that he treasured. Because of all the signs, the wings, the soft feathers that glistened white in the sunlight, were apparently the first to show demonic signs if the tales were to be believed. 

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath, an—that _was_ sulfur. Oh dear Lord, he smelled _sulfur_. It wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him, he _was_ going to Fall from Grace, become a demon, one of the horrible beings he’d once slayed, a creature of Evil that served not God Herself but Lucifer, who fashioned himself a new name to be on par with God, Satan, and, and, and— 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

Aziraphale turned towards the sound of another voice, one he didn’t recognize, drinking in the sight as the final bits of giant snake turned bipedal. The demon presented itself as a male, like Aziraphale, but he was taller and slimmer, if the way his black robes draped from his shoulders was anything to go by. His wings, just as vast and large as Aziraphale’s, were decidedly black from his sulfur bath whenever he’d Fallen. He also brought with him the stench of sulfur like all demons, though that was much more muted as the winds atop the wall took it and spread it across the desert outside of Eden when Adam and Eve now resided. Aziraphale squinted. He almost looked… well, he almost looked _normal_ , nothing at all like the disease-ridden demons Aziraphale had seen (and discorporated). 

He almost looked angelic with the sunlight dancing across his red ringlets. Fallen angel, indeed. 

“Sorry, what was that?” 

And then the demon turned, facing Aziraphale completely, and Aziraphale fought the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and tried to yank his head back. The demon’s eyes, while similarly shaped to Aziraphale’s, didn’t have irises – no, they were completely, unnervingly yellow, grew darker at the edges, and the pupils were two dark, lean slits centered, quite clearly, on Aziraphale. Aziraphale pushed away the way the hairs on his arms started to rise, trying not to choke on the way his esophagus tightened on the lingering, back-of-your-throat smell of sulfur. If there was one way to forcefully remind Aziraphale he was dealing with a demon and not an angel, the slight way everything started to feel _off_ or decidedly _not okay_ , once the demon’s visage was clear to Aziraphale, was an effective one even though Aziraphale didn’t like to judge based off of appearances. Though, he supposed appearances normally would boil down to clothes, and it’s not like a _wardrobe_ made something demonic (why, the Archangel Gabriel would say Aziraphale’s style left much to be desired, which is what Aziraphale would say about the demon's all black attire, so who was he to judge by clothing, really?). But those eyes, those unnerving snake eyes on a human-esque form…

“I said, that went down like a lead balloon.” 

Aziraphale looked away, not wanting to stare (because he wasn’t sure he could stop if he did for much longer). He tucked his hands behind his back and then immediately clasped them together in front of his stomach after they brushed some of his feathers. With a new visual reminder of what could come to be, he didn’t want to touch them. Aziraphale swallowed thickly, glancing back at the demon out of the corner of his eye. A slight pressure seemed to exude from him, sounding like voices carried on a breeze from a long way off to look, just look, there’s no harm in looking, no… The skin around the demon’s unnatural eyes crinkled as he smiled slightly, and Aziraphale blocked out the enticing voices. He wasn’t going to fall for _that_. Aziraphale might be going soft, but he could resist the temptations of a demon at the very least. _That_ he was sure of. His eyes darted to the dunes in front of them where Adam and Eve were, the flaming sword hidden from view because Adam had it out in front of his body protectively, his other hand behind him tightly grasped around Eve's as he led her to Somewhere, Anywhere but Eden. Aziraphale’s gaze softened on them. Helping them, gorgeous and trusting as they were, couldn’t have been _that_ bad. Surely not. However… he caught a flicker of flame. His method of helping definitely left much to be desired. 

Oh, bother. 

Aziraphale must have said something, because the demon was speaking again.

“… first offense and everything. I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.” 

Aziraphale looked at the demon sharply, eyebrows draw over his eyes, unwittingly giving the demon exactly what he didn’t want to give. He opened his mouth to reply quickly, but the words died on the back of his tongue. Know the difference, between good and evil? Angels knew, didn’t they? Aziraphale liked to think _he_ did, at any rate. And surely God did, too – but he mustn’t question Her, no. It wasn’t his place to do so. 

“Well, it _must_ be bad,” yes, it had to be, because, “otherwise _you_ wouldn’t be involved.” Demons were bad. They were Evil. Ergo, anything done by a demon _must_ be Bad. Aziraphale raised his chin a bit and looked away from the way the demon’s eyebrows scrunched together, pinching his face and making his lips pucker, drawn back to Adam and Eve. A lion was approaching them, teeth bared and a growl rumbling through its bared teeth as a warning. 

“Aww,” the demon intoned, similar in the way that Gabriel did when he was correcting a lower angel, “they just said, 'Go up there and cause some trouble.’” Aziraphale took it like he was implying he didn’t do much at all (which was actually arguable, to a degree – the demon hadn’t really done much physically, but his small actions already had gigantic consequences). He didn’t see the demon’s smirk, but Aziraphale could hear it in his voice. Aziraphale’s fingers tightened over each other, and a pout almost wormed its way onto his lips. 

“But you’re a _demon_. I don’t think it’s possible for you to do good.” Just like, Aziraphale (desperately) hoped it was impossible for angels to do bad, his eyes locked on the scene unfolding in front of him as Adam, Eve, and the lion all got closer together in a way that was not very inviting. 

“It’s down to your, you know, basic nature. Nothing personal, you understand,” Aziraphale prattled on, trying to will himself into believing his own words. It had to be nature, see, because angels surely couldn’t do Bad, and if it was just in the basic nature of demons to do Bad, then it was ineffable that those who’d thought they were angels when they were, in fact, just demons walking towards the Fall that was destined to happen to them. Because if that was true, it meant Aziraphale, who couldn’t possibly be one of those predetermined demons, had done Good helping Adam and Eve. Which seemed less and less likely by the minute as the oncoming, unnecessary clash of man and beast became apparent. He missed the demon rolling his eyes, but Aziraphale didn’t miss the, “Ngeh,” drawn from the bottom of the demon's throat in annoyance. 

Aziraphale’s chin rose a bit more in the air, and his body gave a slight, wiggling shake as if he could physically get rid of the doubt coiling around his shoulders.

“You’ve got to admit, though, it’s a bit silly. Big 'Don't Touch' sign right in front of a tree in the middle of the garden? Why not put it atop some high mountain or even the moon? Not very subtle, is it? Makes you wonder what God is _really_ planning.” The demon's voice practically growled over the world “really,” rolling through the “r” sound in a pleasant way. Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his skin when he glanced over at the demon to see those unblinking yellow eyes, trained solely on him, and an easy, lopsided smile that revealed a sharp canine. Something felt… _off_ again. Like Aziraphale was walking blindly forward, straight into what the demon wanted him to, because conversing with this demon came easily and he found himself forgetting he was talking to a demon and not an exceptionally odd angel (like Sandalphon, who was particularly good at unsettling Aziraphale and not blinking very often).

Aziraphale breathed in sharply, looking away and tearing his hands apart only to join them together again, white knuckled, behind his back. The beat of his heart quickened as a chill spread on his chest. It was not the best position to be in when one was the center of a demon's attention, and Aziraphale was quite clearly ensnared. He didn’t even have an easy way out since this was exactly where he was supposed to be, guarding the Eastern wall. 

“Best not to speculate. You can’t second guess God’s plan. It’s ineffable. When you do bad things instead of good like you’re told, you deserve to be punished.” Aziraphale wanted to sneer, but he was more polite than that, even as off kilter as he felt. 

Well. 

“Er.” 

_Almost_ more polite than that. Aziraphale glanced apologetically at the demon, whose lopsided grin had only widened in response. His eyes were quite clearly trained on Aziraphale’s hands clasped tightly behind his back, and Aziraphale immediately separated them, letting them hang by his sides in a vain attempt to hide his right hand, bereft of a weapon, from the demon's sight. The damage was done, however. 

“Didn’t you have a sword?” 

“Ah—” 

“You _did_ , didn’t you? It was flaming like anything.” 

“Well—” 

“I thought it looked quite cool, you know, burning away like that. Where’d it go, lost it already, have you?” 

The demon's eyes were positively sparkling as Aziraphale squirmed like a rat caught between the smooth scales of a constricting python. The air was leaving his lungs slowly as the demon took a step closer, making a show of peering around at Aziraphale’s empty right hand. _When you do bad things instead of good like you’re told, you deserve to be punished_. Was this his punishment, then? Aziraphale could try to lie, but then he really would, truly, have done Bad, even if it was to a creature that certainly had to lie about every other sentence. 

“I gave it away,” he said quickly, not looking at the demon, the words streaming from his lips in a quiet, almost prayer like fashion in his last ditch attempt at hope that he’d done Right. Aziraphale’s chest was heaving, and despite the sun beating down on him, he felt a shiver pass through his body, freezing off the feeling in his fingertips. 

“You _what_?” Whatever the demon had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that, as his features contorted into genuine surprise (and… awe? No, that couldn’t be). Huffing and sucking in what felt like his last breath, Aziraphale turned to face the demon completely with his empty hands raised, as if to say, “Here, look, no tricks, I _really_ don’t have it,” before pointing to the scene the demon clearly hadn’t noticed. The lion had circled to the side, and Adam had gotten closer, brandishing the flaming sword with clumsy abandon towards its flashing teeth and claws. 

“I _gave it away_ ,” Aziraphale said, voice high pitched as his face twisted unpleasantly. The demon looked towards where Aziraphale pointed mouth slightly agape. His head tilted to the side as he glanced back to Aziraphale, clear wonderment on his face as his mouth slowly curved into a smile again. 

“I _had_ to,” Aziraphale started, because, well, now that he’d started he couldn’t very well stop, even if his audience was a demon that couldn’t possibly understand, “because they’ll be cold, the poor dears, and she’s already _expecting_ – and there are obviously dangers out there! So I popped down, handed him the sword and said, 'Here you go, flaming sword, _don’t_ thank me and _don’t_ let the sun come down on you here.’ Because I thought what’s the harm in helping God’s creatures since they were about to go out of Her protection for the first time.” His hands wrung uncomfortably in front of his body, and heat pooled behind his eyes in a way that made his lower lip tremble. More sweat did a slow dance on his back, going down, down, _down_ while the contents of his stomach, nothing more than whatever a stomach was supposed to have because he hadn’t actually sampled any of the delightful looking things in Eden, boiled like sulfur up his throat. 

“That was the right thing to do, yes?” Aziraphale blinked, giving a weak sort of chuckle that could have as easily been seen as a pity laugh at a joke that wasn’t too good or as a cry for help. He was defending himself to and asking a _demon_ , of all things, if he’d done good. Wasn’t that a sight? The demon's eyes looked Aziraphale over as Aziraphale’s fingers twisted together, the slight smile frozen on his face even though he no longer seemed to be mirthful. To their side, the lion roared, and Adam thrust the sword through the air. 

“You’re an _angel_ , angel. I don’t think it’s possible for you do to bad.” The fact he’d nearly perfectly mirrored Aziraphale’s earlier assertion went over Aziraphale’s head, just like how his inflection made his words not say what he really meant (after all, sarcasm wasn’t present in Heaven, and it wasn’t nice to think someone wasn’t telling the truth). 

A rush of warmth spread over Aziraphale, and he couldn’t help the twitch that made his quivering lips part to form a radiant smile. His sweaty hands pressed together, almost like he was praying, hiding the red crescents that had almost been carved into the backs of his hands. 

“Oh, thank you. _Thank you_. I do hope you’re right. It has been worrying me,” Aziraphale said as the demons upper lip curled and the, “Ngeh,” sound slithered from his throat again, this time in disgust. He looked away, a touch of color mottling his slender throat that was barely noticeable behind his long ringlets, and Aziraphale could feel his fingertips again as his breathing calmed, centered and tethered down on the demon.

A… sort of companionable silence befell them, and Aziraphale joined the demon in watching Adam and the lion again. The lion parried a strike with a heavy paw, and snarl of pain followed as its paw had been burnt. While it was distracted, Adam swung the sword high over his head and brought it down onto the lion's skull. 

Aziraphale’s grin fell almost as quickly as his stomach. His hands dropped to his sides as the warmth the demon had caused left him, leaking out through his empty hands. 

“Funny thing is, I’ve been worried, too,” the demon started, and paused, mulling his thoughts over. Aziraphale looked at him, but for once the demon wasn’t giving him a calculating look as he considered his words, yellow eyes cast downward on Adam as the man returned to Eve's side, visibly shaking. 

“I’ve been wondering if that whole apple thing was the right thing to do. A demon can get in a lot of trouble for that – doing the right thing. It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, huh? If I did the good thing and you’d done the bad.” He turned back to Aziraphale, and the lopsided smile was back. Aziraphale found himself smiling back, halfway to a laugh, because yes, it would be funny if— 

“No, it wouldn’t.” It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t, it wouldn’t, _it_ _wouldn’t_. The smile fell from his lips, and Aziraphale schooled his features into a more composed look. He had to stop doing that, giving the demon what he wanted.

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” 

A crack of thunder boomed over the desert, and water began falling from the sky. The demon recoiled slightly as he and Aziraphale watched it rapidly approaching them across the sands, and Aziraphale raised a wing instinctively as the demon started cowering closer to his body. With the open invitation, the demon huddled beneath Aziraphale’s wing, lip curled as the rain reached them. Aziraphale covered himself with his other wing, not too keen on getting completely soaked. Aziraphale wondered what was so bad about water falling from the sky, to make the demon curl beneath an angel’s wing, because it was just water, wasn’t it? Water wasn’t… oh. 

“You don’t suppose it’s _holy water_ , do you?” Aziraphale asked, because, well, holy water came from God, and this water obviously came from God. Maybe it was the demon's punishment for tempting Adam and Eve and contaminating them? 

“No, it’s just cold,” the demon sneered, tongue waggling out of his mouth like he’d tasted something dreadful and he was trying to get rid of the lingering aftertaste. It was then Aziraphale noticed the chill seeping up his legs from the spray hitting his feet. The demon had to be experiencing this, too. A sharp wind cut across the land, causing both of them to shiver, before more whipped about as the storm came into its own. Aziraphale chewed on the thought of dropping down into Eden, glancing at his… companion of sorts. All of God’s creatures included demons, did it not? And it wasn’t like the demon could _do_ anything with Aziraphale watching him, especially not with how small he looked curling in on himself. 

“Come on,” Aziraphale said suddenly, deciding on a whim to follow his gut. Because he was an angel, following what his gut told him had to be okay – it was in his nature to make good decisions, even if they didn’t look so good in the beginning, he’d decided.

“ _What_?” 

“Come on,” Aziraphale repeated, offering a hand and jerking his head towards the opposite side of the wall towards Eden’s inner sanctum. 

“Nothing in Eden that can’t be protected from down below, though I rather doubt I’ll have this post for much longer as the only two tenants have been evicted,” Aziraphale explained, turning around while trying to make sure his wing still covered the demon that was eyeing him warily. When he didn’t take Aziraphale’s hand, Aziraphale just shrugged, walking to the edge of the wall and jumping into Eden, slowing his descent by flapping his wings. Once on the quickly softening dirt, Aziraphale tucked himself beneath a particularly large tree by the wall, finding himself instantly much warmer. Less rain fell on him, and the winds that had been picking up sharply no longer cut to his bones – in fact, the wall of Eden blocked them completely. One messy squelch (and mild yelp) later, the demon was sitting next to him, not much space between them, upper lip curled in a devastating sneer. He was still shivering.

“I never caught your name. I’m—” Manners were better late than never, but the demon interrupted Aziraphale before he could finish speaking. 

“I know who you are, angel. You’re the principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Did my research before coming up here to cause a bit of chaos,” the demon grumbled, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around them. Aziraphale affixed him with an insistent stare until the demon rolled his eyes. 

“Crawly,” he huffed after less than a minute, not returning Aziraphale’s gaze. 

“Well, Crawly, I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but I don’t know if it is, really.” 

“Likewise.” 

And they sat, huddled underneath the tree as the thunderstorm raged on, and Aziraphale felt like everything was okay, at least for a little bit.


	2. If I Could Be Over You When the Sky Starts Falling, Would You Be Happy Under Me?

Demons weren’t meant to love. They were incapable of it, actually. It went against their internal design, that’s what they said. But as a breeze, heavy with the scent of salt from the ocean roaring a few meters away, swept across his face, Crawly couldn’t help but wonder. 

What if they were wrong? 

He wasn’t even sure which _they_ “they” meant - angels or demons? Who had started the lore? One would think demons wouldn’t possibly make themselves look so… well, _demonic_ , but then they wouldn’t have met the likes of Hastur. That demon truly relished in everything demons were “supposed” to enjoy… were demons even supposed to enjoy things? How could one enjoy something without liking it, and how could one like something without eventually loving it? 

But that sort of thinking is what made him Fall, wasn’t it? His memory was vague at best, snippets of what had been, but he decided to never dwell. It never did him any good, and it wasn’t like he wanted to go back. 

_You disappointed me, …_

Crawly shook his head, annoyingly long curls whipping his face, and looked out of the damp cave he was hiding out in, out at the ever-moving sea that only listened to the moon. Sometimes he felt like the ocean – forever moving but stuck in one place, forever pushing at the boundaries with relentless abandon to make barely any headway at all. 

Trodden on by the humans he was supposedly superior to. 

Crawly snorted, lip curling in disgust. In nearly four thousand years of continuously skipping out on reassignments, he’d never… he’d never felt superior to humans. Not _really_. Not in a really, really long time because he’d _seen_ them, seen what they could do. They didn’t have magic, but they still (eventually) did what they wanted to do. They weren’t ever truly afraid, as a species, to tackle things head on. They had imagination, which was equally parts disgusting as it was liberating. Crawly rather liked imagination, though, and was working on developing one for himself. Because, well, the things humans could cook up with an imagination! Studying the humans and emulating some of their tactics had made him get more commendations from Hell, and more commendations from Hell meant he had more to fall back on the next time some fool got it in their head that he belonged anywhere else but on the Earth’s surface. 

Crawly stood up from his perch on a rock near the mouth of the cave, arching his back in a stretch that made his outstretched knuckles brush the ceiling. A yawn tore through his mouth, teeth clacking back together audibly. There was an itch, an insatiable itch at the back of his skull, and it was starting to get to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He’d let it stew for some time, so he’d need to do something big. 

It was time for some demonic temptations. 

A smile curled around his lips, and heat radiated from his chest. Demons maybe couldn’t love, but Crawly thought he _might_ be capable of it. Or whatever demonic equivalent there was to a thing so pure as love. And he enjoyed nothing more than messing with humans, so who’s to say he didn’t actually love it? He never knew what they’d do after he tempted them, and it was a beautifully chaotic sight to behold most times, even when it blew up in his face. 

Humans. Ingenious little buggers. He never wanted to leave them permanently. The Romans in particular seemed to like inventing things, and while a little war had broken out recently, he was still in Italy… maybe the war had stopped? Crawly would have to go and investigate, see what he’d missed and what would be the most fun way to stir up a bit of trouble. 

“Crawly?” 

A sharp hiss that began in his chest and left with a venomous snap filled the air, a warning. But the body that broke the view of the ocean from the cave’s mouth didn’t seem bothered, white blond curls an angelic halo around the intruder’s head as he dangled for a second from the upper lip. 

“What has happened to your eyes, Crawly?” 

Crawly didn’t register the question, too caught up in the way Aziraphale looked… Not Right. Tremors passed through his body, and his ruddy cheeks weren’t bunched up in his normal disarming smile that Crawly liked to think was just for him (because he hadn’t seen Aziraphale direct it any human, but he also hadn’t been in much contact with Aziraphale, either). 

Just like the ocean, the tides within Crawly shifted, brining cooler waters from the darker depths of his soul. 

Outwardly, his expression didn’t change as he considered Aziraphale, the angel in question awkwardly lowering himself into the cave with as much elegance as a fish flopping around on land. The physical exertion was another bad sign, because Aziraphale could’ve just miracled himself into the cave (that’s how Crawly did it, not wanting to risk discorporating during low tide and knowing it to be impossible to get in any other way during high tide). 

“What’s wrong, Aziraphale? Not like you to sniff me out.” Because it wasn’t, it _really_ wasn’t. In four thousand-odd years, he’d seen Aziraphale twice (which included when they met when time _began_ ), and both times _he’d_ sought out the angel. He felt a bit drawn to Aziraphale, especially after learning Aziraphale had given his flaming sword to Adam and Eve. No other angel, the few Crawly had dodged around, seemed to be worth his time like Aziraphale. None of the others would’ve given up their swords, to begin with, and they sure as fuck wouldn’t have even given someone like Crawly the light of day. But Aziraphale _did_ , even when Crawly was trying to goad him. 

There was a decidedly soft, delicate touch to Aziraphale, but there was something steely beneath it all – probably whatever had gotten him the rank of principality, the rank he seemed to want to avoid, just like how Crawly avoided the way Hell tried to drag him back under. Aziraphale hid his steel away, and there was no greater temptation to someone like Crawly then airing out the dirty laundry someone was desperately hiding. He saw it, sometimes, when Aziraphale gave a glare or a quip, but they were gone as quick as they came, terrifyingly addicting morsels of Aziraphale’s core. It was why Crawly made sure to seek Aziraphale out if he ever felt the angel in his area, not that they’d crossed paths much. 

(Was he going to change that? Maybe he should.) 

(If he had, maybe he could’ve _prevented_ this, whatever _this_ was. Because Aziraphale took the punches life and God gave him without resistance, having faith that it was for a good cause. Crawly knew better, though.) 

“I, ah… your eyes are all right? They, they look… black…” Aziraphale asked, voice warbling a bit, not even looking at Crawly. That was another Off thing to add the Crawly’s rapidly growing list. Aziraphale had always looked Cralwy in the eyes, even if he didn’t like what he saw (the right side of Crawly’s face twitched, and his teeth grit together at the memory of how Aziraphale’s eyes had widened, ready to look away but determined to be polite, when they’d first met). 

A particularly large wave crashed against the cliff side Crawly’s hideout resided in, spraying Aziraphale’s back with a warm, salty spray that made him yelp and jump. When Aziraphale turned slightly to look at the ocean, Crawly closed most of the distance between them, removing the dark lenses from his face. 

A part of him wanted to scare Aziraphale. 

A different part of him wanted to swipe at the tears threatening to fall from Aziraphale’s blond lashes. 

Crawly hadn’t seen them before, but they made the cold depths within his chest swirl. 

Aziraphale only blinked, shoulders hiking up a tad, when he turned back and saw Crawly about a foot away from him. His eyes were wide again, staring deeply at Crawly’s, and Crawly immediately replaced the dark lenses, deflating a bit. 

“Just a way to hide from humans, Aziraphale. Nothing anymore fiendish about me than normal.” He wasn’t going to get anything from Aziraphale, not asking straightforward questions. Mentally, he swatted away the resentment that coiled around his mind, hissing bastard thoughts like Aziraphale had to find him completely repulsive, that Aziraphale was only ever humoring him because Aziraphale was a _nice_ angel, that Aziraphale didn’t feel that tug in his gut when Crawly was near like Crawly felt when Aziraphale was around. 

“They work very well. What are they made out of?” Aziraphale made a motion, as if he wanted to reach forward and take them off of Crawly’s face, but he stopped about halfway when Crawly tilted his head back, scowling. 

He didn’t fancy scaring Aziraphale much anymore. 

He didn’t fancy seeing the way his eyes made Aziraphale recoil mentally. 

“Obsidian. The humans can make some very interesting things.” For such a soft looking creature, like he’d cave in any moment, Crawly really admired the way Aziraphale stood up against his own hurt feelings. It was annoying at this current moment since Crawly wanted to know what had made him so upset, but still admirable. Crawly, despite his inner venom, could never help it if he was tempted to cry. 

Aziraphale looked down and away, humming, “Yes, they can,” in agreement. Crawly’s eyebrows arched, and a frown carved its way onto his lips. There it was. It was the same tell from before – not being polite and deliberately not looking at the person he was talking to. Aziraphale’s hands wrung wretchedly before his stomach, similar in the way when Crawly had first met him and he was torn about giving his sword away, so Crawly waited, waited for Aziraphale to come to terms with why he’d sought out a demon for whatever was bothering him. Because, honestly, Crawly wasn’t sure Aziraphale even _liked_ him in his darkest moments and was pretty sure Aziraphale maybe thought of him as an odd acquaintance in his best moments (because that’s _probably_ what they were, despite the odd pull Crawly felt towards Aziraphale), and specifically seeking out your enemy to show them your weaknesses was a huge no-no. 

The right side of Crawly’s face twitched again, and one of his canines cut into the inside of his lip. 

“I… you… you are going to think me very foolish,” Aziraphale said after minutes of silence between them, the only noise coming from the relentless sea not far from Aziraphale’s back. Crawly’s hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting fiercely into the soft skin of his palms. 

“So foolish you seek out a Fallen soul like me for, I dunno, comfort?” His chest hurt. The cold swirling inside pushed and pushed and pushed in his torso, against his ribs like they were seaside cliffs, trying in vain to spill out of him. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he be _normal_? Why was there an anger, boiling deep in his head, that Crawly couldn’t even tell what he was angry at – at Aziraphale, for showing up all vulnerable, or at whatever had made Aziraphale show up all vulnerable to a sworn enemy he definitely didn’t like? 

Crawly wanted to send Aziraphale away as much as he wanted to send Aziraphale’s pain away. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Crawly was supposed to be the one that approached Aziraphale. Crawly was supposed to greet him cheerfully with words that were intended to make Aziraphale mad. Aziraphale was supposed to respond in kind, with either a surprising admission as he didn’t recognize the sarcasm, or he was supposed to pout as Crawly smiled and give almost as good as he got, because Aziraphale was never truly sharp back to Crawly. 

_That_ was how things were supposed to go. Even with only two meetings behind them, _that_. Was. Supposed. To. Be. How. Things. Went. And Aziraphale had broken it! But he couldn’t be given the full blame, since he was clearly not in his right mind, caused by some external force. That someone or something was going to pay, because whatever it was was splitting Crawly in two. 1

Crawly had to remind himself to breathe, and he barely heard Aziraphale speak around the din in his head from the boiling emotions and the swell of freezing, deep currents in his chest. 

“You’re right, this is… I-I shouldn’t bother you. It really is _terribly_ silly of me,” Aziraphale stammered, still not meeting Crawly’s hidden gaze, and a hollow laugh accompanied a fat tear rolling down his cheek. 

Something inside Crawly broke and shattered. He’d be able to identify it later, but in the moment, he took a short step, bony fingers wrapping around Aziraphale’s tunic sleeve. 

“You must be cold. Get away from the spray,” Crawly said, voice nearing a hoarse whisper as he gave a slight tug on Aziraphale’s sleeve, an invitation. He hadn’t even thought of it before, but Aziraphale was just in a normal linen tunic. It was thin and was probably still soaked from the wave that had startled him earlier. Crawly, in contrast, was in wet-weather wear, with a cloak over his tunic and breeches beneath it. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_! _Aziraphale_ would’ve noticed sooner. _Aziraphale_ would have welcomed him immediately into the cave, just as he had when the rain had first fallen into Eden. 

Crawly’s teeth bared into a sneer, and his left fist, the one not tangled in Aziraphale’s sleeve, tightened until his nails broke his skin. 

“S-sssorry for being,” Crawly paused, trying to collect his tongue and brain into cooperating again, “s-s-stupid. Come on.” He released Aziraphale’s sleeve, not wanting to force the angel into anything, turning on heel to walk deeper into the cave. If Aziraphale wanted to follow, he would. _Crawly_ didn’t care. _Aziraphale_ was the one that had sought him out, not the other way around. 

But Crawly breathed again, not even aware he’d stopped after letting go of Aziraphale’s sleeve, when he heard Aziraphale follow him after hesitating for only a second. The boiling anger in his head cooled a bit, and his left fist uncurled, only a little bit of blood beneath his nails. 

Around a slight bend in the cave was where Crawly had been sleeping. A few blankets lay strewn about, remnants of food and campfires showing just how long he’d been staying in the cave. Normally he would stay closer to the humans, instead of in a cave only the truly stupid ones might know about and even stupider (also known as _dead_ ) ones tried to get to. But Crawly had grown a tad miffed at the war raging, so he’d decided to take a bit of time for himself by the ocean that tugged at and released his soul. 

“Sss-sit. I promis-se,” Crawly nearly choked, nostrils flaring as he threatened whatever body part he could to _stop_ being a nuisance, “it won’t hurt you.” He himself sat down onto the only slightly damp blankets, leaning his back against the cave wall and letting his long legs sprawl before him on the truly damp sections. Aziraphale sat quietly and primly on the driest part Crawly had purposefully left for him, looking about the little area that was Crawly’s spot. 

“I wanted to stay here. The ocean is nice,” Crawly answered the question Aziraphale didn’t voice but clearly wanted to from the way his gaze darted between Crawly's chest and the charred sticks littered about. 

“Ah.” 

Crawly tilted his head to one side as he crossed his arms, assessing Aziraphale. One of his cheeks was redder than the other – he’d probably rubbed at those falling tears with his sleeve. He still wasn’t looking at Crawly’s eyes, instead looking pitifully down at his lap. Why had Aziraphale come to Crawly? Why hadn’t he gone to one of his angel friends? Crawly’s hand itched to reach forward under Aziraphale’s tucked chin, to raise his head to stare into those round, expressive blue eyes. 

But he didn’t move it. He didn’t do anything but stare at the angel that had simultaneously lost and desperately held onto his nerve. 

“I won’t laugh, angel, I promise,” Crawly said in the same soft, low tone as before, one he didn’t know he was capable of because of how… _disgustingly_ tender it was. He was going to have to wash his mouth with salt water or something after Aziraphale left. And yell at his body parts for betraying him, stuttering like that. 

_Could_ one yell at body parts? 

Eh. Didn’t matter, Crawly was going to. 

Aziraphale gave his a strange, wretched look that Crawly never wanted to see again. It looked like Aziraphale couldn’t decide to cry or laugh, and his face twisted in a way it certainly wasn’t used to, if it was even supposed to move that way at all. 

“You wouldn’t be the first, really. I won’t blame you when you do. It’s truly silly of me to be this upset over something so inane.” Aziraphale sniffed, and it was the gross kind when runny mucus was pulled back upwards to stop its slow descent downwards. Crawly’s frown fell into a scowl as his eyebrows quirked together. He _wouldn’t be the first_? And Aziraphale, despite being so obviously hurt, was _expecting_ him to laugh? At this kind of suffering, the kind that wasn’t fun? What kind of fucked up people had Aziraphale confided in before? 

Another cold, rippling surge blasted Crawly’s ribcage, and the rage in his head started bubbling again. The itch in his hand spread to his arms, wanting to drag Aziraphale to his neck like he’d seen humans do when one was particularly upset. Crying into the shoulder, that’s what it was. Offering a shoulder to cry on. Whatever. But there was a line between them, one of enemies that kind of knew each other. Kind of had to, since they were immortal and ran around the same portions of the Earth. 

Crawly wasn’t going to cross that line, so the words died before they could travel from his memory to his tongue. 

“Oh, dear me, I-I’m sorry, I…” 

Aziraphale was still smiling that strange, hollow smile as his tears started spilling. He turned away from Crawly, and Crawly said nothing, did nothing, eyes glued to what little of Aziraphale’s despondent expression he could see. The thing inside of him broke a little more, into tiny pieces, and the fingers of his right hand twitched. It itched to card through Aziraphale’s curls, to grab ahold of them in a way that wouldn’t hurt Aziraphale but would convey that _Crawly was there_ for him. 

Crawly bit the inside of his cheek sharply, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth until he tasted a bitter, metallic tang. 

And then he bit down harder. 

Demons couldn’t love. He wasn’t an exception. He wasn’t even _friends_ with Aziraphale. If demons could even make friends, because friendship demanded love! And here he was, ignoring Aziraphale and making things all about him again. Stupid shit like this was why he hadn’t noticed how Aziraphale obviously hadn’t meant to come to Crawly since he wasn’t wearing the appropriate attire. What a goddamn bastard. What a stupid fucking _goddamn bastard._

But that was part of the deal, wasn’t it? 

His fingers curled up again, this time carving crescents into his biceps. 

“It’s the scrolls,” Aziraphale admitted softly after a few unsuccessful minutes of trying to stop crying and internally get over his pain. Crawly knew the expression well, and it made his stomach churn to see it on Aziraphale. 

“The scrolls?” Crawly prompted when enough time passed that he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t continue. He had no idea what Aziraphale meant, but from the way Aziraphale gave him a quick surprised look, he maybe should have. 

“The Library of Alexandria has burned. Not to the ground. But. Quite… quite _a_ _lot_ of their scrolls burned.” Aziraphale rubbed at his red face with shaking hands. Crawly could take those hands in his own, hold them still for Aziraphale. He could try the human remedy for an upset companion and hold Aziraphale tightly to his chest with his scrawny arms, hooking his legs around Aziraphale for added holding effect. He could gently sweep his own sleeves against Aziraphale’s tear-stained cheeks. 

He could do a lot. 

But he didn’t. 

He didn’t do any of it. Didn’t even attempt it, either. 

“Aren’t there lots of libraries?” Crawly asked, wondering if he got Aziraphale distracted that it’d help. Because Crawly was kind of only good at one thing – spoken words. He wasn’t a big reader, mainly because it was hard to read with his obsidian lenses and couldn’t very well take them off in the presence of humans, but he could spin a tale with his talented tongue. The only other method to help that he knew about was the physical comfort he’d seen humans employ. Crawly couldn’t, he wouldn’t cross that invisible line and touch Aziraphale, so this was all he could do. It’d have to be enough for now. 

“Yes, bu-but this one… it was special, you see. It was the _best_ one. By far.” 

Crawly watched Aziraphale’s chest. His breathing had stopped coming in choked gasps as he tried to not cry, replaced with calmer, deeper intakes as his mind latched onto teaching Crawly something. Crawly’s gaze traveled up the gentle slope of Aziraphale’s body to the sliver Aziraphale’s face that he could see, taking in the way Aziraphale’s tears still fell but at a much slower pace. 

“Why was it the best? The architecture very good or something?” Crawly had heard of it, sort of. He had very vague memories about it from eavesdropping on someone. Maybe. Libraries just weren’t too terribly high on his list of places to visit. 

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale paused, turning to fully face Crawly with a sort of bemused and definitely wet smile, “the _scrolls_. They have first hand accounts from _all_ _over_ stored there. There were so many stories, so much information, so much culture there. I don’t necessarily approve of how some of it was obtained, but…” Aziraphale just shrugged and sniffled. Crawly’s eyes sparkled. _There_ he was, there was that soft _bastard_. What other angel would admit to that – not approving of the methods to obtain something but not caring? His fingers uncurled, leaving stinging marks in his arms that he ignored. 

“Don’t you technically know all of that stuff though, being an angel and all? Like how we know the Earth isn’t at the center of the universe but they don’t?” Crawly drawled, quite pleased with himself that his words had worked as a good distraction, at least for now. 

“Oh, but it’s fascinating to see what the humans come up with. And there’s some things we don’t know that they’re finding out. Plus it’s not all just factual things – I did say cultures and stories, too. I’m particularly fond of those that try to predict the future.” Aziraphale’s eyes were shining again. Well. They’d _been_ shining, as he’d been close to tears and then crying, but they were _bright_ again, and locked onto Crawly’s. 

“Oh, well, if there are _stories_ , then, we should go one day. See what’s left.” Crawly said sarcastically, in a vain attempt to get things back to how they were supposed to be, but his mouth betrayed him by stretching into a warm, pleased smile. Aziraphale let out a hiccup-laugh, swiping at his nose and eyes with his sleeve again. Crawly’s smile went lopsided into his signature smug look. _He’d_ done this. _He’d_ cheered Aziraphale up, at least a little bit. It almost tasted as good as a successful temptation that caused just the _right_ amount of ridiculous chaos. 

“Oh, we _should_! I haven’t been there yet – been too busy doing miracles and trying to find a place to settle down, you see,” Aziraphale said, hands clapping together delightedly. A grin spread across his cheeks, the type that Crawly had missed earlier when seeing Aziraphale’s red cheeks. 

The broken pieces, those tiny shattered things within Crawly, vibrated. 

Crawly’s smirk fell to an open mouthed gape, and heat pooled on his neck. _That_ hadn’t been the outcome that he’d intended, but… 

“Oh, uh, yeah, I-I haven’t. Uh, been, either. Busy with temptations,” he stammered, trying to kick-start his brain again and stop the way those pieces stirred. 

“What about now?” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled at the thought, and he rubbed quickly at his eyes, again, as if he could get rid of all signs that he’d been crying. 

“ _Now_?” Crowley resented the way his voice pitched high, sounding somewhat strangled, but it couldn’t really be helped with the way the air was escaping his lungs at the thought that Aziraphale wanted to spend time with him and was looking at him like he’d just spouted the word of God. 

“Were you busy today, Crawly?” Aziraphale asked, pouting slightly. His nose was bright red, there were probably still traces of snot on his upper lip, there were definitely still traces of tears on his ruddy cheeks, and the sea breeze had whipped and tousled his curls into strange patterns that the salt kept firm, bit Crawly could swear he hadn’t seen anything more angelic than Aziraphale in that moment. And he could barely see in the dim lighting made darker with the damned obsidian lenses! 

Probably a good thing, though. Might be too bright a sight for him, otherwise. 

“Y-n-no, I wasn’t. I mean. Nothing _pressing_. I could go with you, yeah.” Did he just agree to going to visit a _library_? With an _angel_? Satan help him. 

But oh. _Oh_. 

Aziraphale’s grin widened, teeth and nose scrunched up to accommodate his big expression, and Crawly forgot everything in that moment. He followed Aziraphale’s example on autopilot when the angel stood up, dusting off the seat of his tunic. Aziraphale took one step away and Crawly followed with two, expecting Aziraphale to continue walking instead of stopping and turning to him. Aziraphale’s face was slightly somber, blinding grin gone, but he wasn’t… wasn’t _sad_ , per se. 

He was close enough that Crawly could nearly count his eyelashes. Crawly might’ve, had Aziraphale not grabbed his hand, which was much colder than Aziraphale’s, and given it a squeeze. 

“Thank you, Crawly, for… well, everything,” Aziraphale said, voice low, not quite staring into Crawly’s eyes but somewhere around his chin instead. 

“Don’t mention it.” It took Crawly a moment to register Aziraphale had spoken and that he definitely needed to reply. 

He meant it, though. Demons weren’t supposed to be thanked. 

Those clear blue eyes looked into Crawly’s, and the pieces inside of him were picked up gently by Aziraphale’s warm hand holding his, put back together with the light Aziraphale’s eyes radiated, and the put together pieces were softly placed back into his chest with a light pat on the back of his hand and a nauseatingly soft, “I won’t.”

“Ngeh.”

Crawly forgot how to breathe when Aziraphale slipped his hand away and turned back around, spouting something about the library that Crawly didn’t quite have the capacity to take in. 

_Oh_. Oh how wrong _they_ were about demons. 

And _oh_. Oh how he now wished they’d been right.

Because an angel would never love a demon. 

A new fissure appeared on Crawly’s fragile heart as the rest of his life got started, following Aziraphale out of his cave with one hand burning hotter than hellfire. 

1

In a handful of years, Hell would send Crawly a commendation on his superb temptations involved with the fall of the Roman emperor Julius Caesar. Crawly would take centuries to get over the burning righteous anger that fueled the temptations that brought upon a lot of death and destruction and not much chaos and definitely no fun. He’d learn how to change his ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *makes the 1941 church scene and the "it burned down, remember? :(" scene spicier*
> 
> honestly tho i thought i'd do all aziraphale pov but crowley just kinda yeeted (yote?) that away. rat bastard. 
> 
> they're in a cave in italy somewhere, 48 bc, and that's all i got. because if i start doing more than skim look research (looking at YOU, library of alexandria, that may or may not have burned down all at once or just like once and then people kinda trashed it D:<) i WILL fall down a rabbit hole of reading more and more history like a nerd and not come out to write fic. so anything about the history that's a bit off? i'm claiming artistic liberties lol.

**Author's Note:**

> song titles/lyrics? on my titles? it's more likely than you think.


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